


It's Always Something With You

by cimera



Category: Bon Cop Bad Cop (2006)
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2009-12-21
Updated: 2009-12-21
Packaged: 2017-10-04 20:05:10
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,260
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/33621
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cimera/pseuds/cimera
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Martin and David are hot on the trail of a Bad Guy while trying to stay alive and keep their hands off each other - easier said than done.</p>
            </blockquote>





	It's Always Something With You

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks to everyone who helped me get this finished! Sorry about the lack of French :)

It’s Always Something With You

_10:13 am, Thursday_

“I can’t believe I let you get me into these situations,” Martin Ward grumbled, not quite under his breath and certainly loud enough for the man standing next to him to hear.

“Me?” David Bouchard lifted his arm in an expressive gesture, no doubt meant to convey that nothing was his fault. Unfortunately, the tiny janitor’s closet they were hiding in had barely enough room for the two of them, and definitely no room for flailing arms.

David’s hand hit the end of a broom handle, which fell over and clattered against a metal shelving unit. David looked startled by the noise and tried to take a step backward and collided with a wheeled mop bucket and another metal shelf.

Martin ignored the by now familiar French cursing and pulled the closet door open as much as he thought he could get away with and peeked outside. Doverton’s men were still out there with their guns, but they hadn’t heard the commotion, so he and David had to stay hidden, but at least they weren’t in imminent danger of being shot.

The swearing tapered off and Martin carefully closed the door and turned back around. He hadn’t noticed David getting closer though, and found they were suddenly nose to nose in the small space. One of David’s thighs was close enough to brush against his leg and their hands were almost touching. These ridiculously cramped hiding spaces are too hot, he thought, as he realised he was suddenly feeling quite warm. Martin cleared his throat, “If you’ve finished making my point for me, perhaps we can discuss strategy?”

“The point is that you’re an idiot and if you hadn’t made that stupid book deal, we wouldn’t even be here!” David’s reply was just short of shouting, but he curtailed the hand-waving.

“Keep your voice down!” Martin hissed, “Doverton has his guys all over out there, but when they’re done with the shipment, we can sneak back out and get the proof we need to finish this.”

“So what do we need a strategy for?”

*                                             *                                             *

_Twenty seven minutes later_

“You may have been right about needing a strategy,” David admitted. He grimaced as his left hand slipped slightly on the metal bracket he was holding onto and tightened his grip as much as he could.

Beside him, hanging from the same metal bracket, Martin huffed under his breath. “If I get out of this, remind me to care about being right.”

“Si je sors d’icitte, j’machète une cravat!”

“What happened to the ‘English in Ontario’ rule?”

“We’re hanging from the side of a building, and not in a happy way, that’s what happened!”

“How could there be a happy way to hang from the side of a building?”

“Well, I have this great story about me and…”

“Actually, I really don’t want to know,” Martin interrupted, “and I’ve almost got this window open. I just need a bit more space.”

Martin used his left foot to nudge open the nearest window and then moved his hands along the bracket, trying to get closer to the window on the wall at a ninety degree angle to the one they were hanging from. The bracket ended when he was still too far away.

“Can you go any further?” David asked.

Martin shook his head and sighed. He took his left hand off the bracket and braced his left foot against the tiny window sill as much as he could to prevent supporting his full weight with one hand. He reached as far as he could, but was still too far away from the window to actually grab hold, or even propel himself towards it.

“It’s not going to work,” he said when his foot slipped slightly and he had to grab back onto the bracket to keep from falling.

“I have an idea. Do you have a good grip there?”

“Tell me what the idea is before you do anything.”

But David was already moving. He shuffled his hands along the bracket slowly, trying not to swing his weight at all as he moved closer to Martin. When they were right beside each other, almost sharing the same space, he asked again, “Do you have a good grip?”

“Yes, but not for very long if you’re going to do what I think you’re going to do.”

“I’ll be fast,” and he grinned, that crazy grin, and moved his hands so one was in between Martin’s hands. He was almost on top of Martin now and Martin once again braced his foot against the window sill to get a bit of relief on his arms.

And then David let go of the bracket and was only hanging on to Martin. The strain hurt, but Martin found he was distracted from it by his friend literally climbing over his back. For a brief moment David’s hands were on his shoulders and his legs were on either side of Martin. They were pressed close together out of sheer, life-saving necessity, but Martin was annoyed to realize he was not concentrating on the situation so much as the sharp flash of arousal he felt when David’s hands clutched at his waist and skimmed quickly over his back.

Martin sighed again and David moved faster. “I’m almost there!”

Out of the corner of his eye he could see David was nearly at the window. In another moment David grabbed the edge of the casement and hauled himself inside. Once again Martin was only supporting himself.

“Okay,” David turned back and reached for Martin’s hand, “now let me pull you in here.”

The only way for Martin to get inside would be to let David take all of _his_ weight now, and then bodily haul him through the window. He’d have his hands all over him, but only in the interests of saving his life, of course. Martin groaned under his breath “What have I done to deserve this?”

*                                             *                                             *

_Forty three minutes later_

“This time is definitely not my fault,” David whispered. Martin could feel David’s hair brushing against the edge of his jaw as he turned his head to speak as close to Martin’s ear as he could manage.

They were sitting back to back with their hands cuffed between their bodies at one end of Doverton’s downtown warehouse. Almost all the stolen goods had already been shipped out and only a few palettes of boxes were scattered around. Doverton himself was there, at the other end of the room. He was pacing with a silver revolver in his hand, watching while one of his men searched through Martin and David’s wallets.

“This time I don’t even care about fault,” Martin replied, “I care about getting out of here or we’re going to be late.”

“Fuck the time! I’m sure they’ll understand. We need to get out of here or they’re going to kill us.”

“Doverton won’t kill us, but he’d have no problem leaving us here until he’s safely out of the country and completely outside our jurisdiction.”

“So, we need a plan,” David started squirming and shifting his weight, which pulled Martin’s arms to a weird angle.

“Stop that! You’re going to dislocate my shoulder.”

“You won’t be too upset about that, when I tell you that I have a knife in my boot,” David said, but he did stop squirming. “I don’t think I can reach it, see if you can.”

“What good will a knife do us when we’re handcuffed to these chairs?”

“Well, it’s better than being handcuffed to chairs without a knife.”

“Look, enough about the knife, I have a handcuff key.”

David was silent for a moment and Martin thought that might mean he was actually upset.

“I can’t yell at you right now but later, you’re gonna get an earful. Where is it?”

And that was the reason Martin hadn’t said anything at first. He knew he couldn’t reach it, and he wasn’t sure that David would be able to either. The problem was did he want David trying?

“It’s in the elastic on my shorts,” Martin bit out, quieter than the rest of their whispered conversation had been.

“What?”

“My shorts,” he said louder, “the elastic on my shorts. It’ll be on your right side, you might be able to reach it.”

It felt like David was shaking and Martin realized that he was laughing. “It’s very funny, yes. Can you get on with it!”

And he did. And Martin gritted his teeth and thought about freezing winter mornings when he had to brush the snow off his car windshield before he could drive it. When David’s hand found it’s way under his shirt and brushed against his bare side he thought about his grade six science teacher with the hairy mole just under her chin. He said a tiny whisper of a thank you prayer that David couldn’t see his face when he felt David’s warm fingers grasp the elastic on his boxer shorts and tug gently, trying to find the key. He was sure his face must be beet red and he was surprised the bad guys across the room couldn’t hear his heart thumping in his chest.

When they were free and sneaking out the back door to find a car or a phone or even some spare firearms Martin thought David seemed a little reluctant to look him in the eye, but he hardly had time to dwell on it.

*                                             *                                             *

_2:30 pm, Thursday_

“I fear for my life,” David leaned over and whispered into Martin’s ear.

Martin agreed that this was probably the worst thing they’d faced all day, but he was mostly just getting fed up with David always touching him and being near him and driving him crazy. Surely it wasn’t always this bad? On normal days when they collaborated on cases or had dinner at each other’s houses or worked with the ghost writer on the book, there wasn’t usually this much physical contact. Martin was sure he would have noticed if there had been.

But even if he wanted to bring up the subject, which he certainly didn’t, it was too late now. The principal’s speech was winding down and then she said their names and smiled at them and it was their turn in front of the room of sixty small children.

They both stood up from the child-sized chairs they’d been squished into and walked to the front of the classroom. They had a junior patrol office with them who had a couple of boxes of fake detective badges and cardboard police hats to give to the kids at the end of their speech. After the day they’d had, though, Martin decided he wanted the whole thing over as soon as possible.

He motioned to Officer Kowalski while David started telling the kids some joke half in French that they probably wouldn’t understand. She brought the boxes over and when David stopped talking and only the teachers and principal were laughing quietly Martin announced, “We have prizes for everyone!”

He opened the first box and held up a handful of the hats and badges while the children cheered. Then they all got out of their seats and rushed to the front of the classroom.

Martin and David shared a panicked look as they were overrun by small bodies and grabby hands. One particularly enthusiastic boy muscled his way from behind David in order to get his badge and hat, and pushed David forward as he did so.

Given how Martin’s luck was going that day, David was pushed right into his personal space, yet again. This time Martin had no adrenaline or cramped spaces as an excuse for his feelings. They were pressed against each other in a sea of eight year olds while Officer Kowalski tried to hand out goodies to six children at a time with only two hands, and all he was thinking about was his friends slightly scruffy cheeks and firm thighs. Martin decided enough was enough.

“Look, David, there’s something I need to talk to you about.”

David snorted with laughter at the pinched expression on Martin’s face, “All the times I’ve touched you today, and you pick this one to finally do something about it?”

“Do something? You’ve touched me?” Martin was at a rare loss for words. It sounded like David was not unaware of his feelings. In fact, it sounded like more than that.

“Help!” Officer Kowalski called out, sounding just short of desperate. She still had a smile on her face, but it was getting strained.

Martin took a step away from David, ignoring the smug grin on his face, and tried to promise with his eyes that later they would talk about the situation, or not talk about it at all and do something else instead. He wasn’t sure if it worked since it had been many years since he tried to convey anything remotely sexy with just his eyes.

But even with their two languages and their very different working styles, he and David always seemed to figure out what was going on. Martin thought this was probably something they could translate together. He waded into the crowd and pulled some fake badges out of the box for the kids at the back of the mob, then looked back at David. The smile on his face wasn’t smug or crazy or anything like that, it was just happy. Yes, in the translation department they were doing just fine.

 


End file.
